Blue and Purple
by redcristal
Summary: Mostly slice of life thing ...Badr, Esra ...


Part 1 Dream of Purple and Blue

 **Summary** : All over the place

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing

 **Timeline** : All over the place

Also OC alert, for this I had to create two OC characters. Two women: Hayma Ro. Zuraya Jehoahaz Abraham, she is twin sister of main antagonist. They will be the ones that will carry the burden of showing the past events.

David Jehoahaz Abraham, Badr & Ezra and their son (and most things) belong to Shinobu Ohtaka.  
Zuraya Jehoahaz Abraham in mine and so is the plot in this "Don't take it seriously" fic.

And Yes I'm re-using beginning scenes from my other story: Swan Song of Reflection. So readers who happened to read that story you can skip this chapter and the next as well.

And now finally on with this story...

* * *

 *****Zuraya Jehoahaz Abraham - 1 *****

Zuraya was sitting cross legged on the ground talking to Mother Dragon. The sheer beauty of her scaly friend never ceased to amaze her.

Eyes as dark as the night sky, framed with long eyelashes, brilliant white gold scales that glittered like stars in which Zuraya could have seen her own reflection, as one could in a full body length mirror, in those large eyes. She still looked the same – tall and slender, light brown skin, with a sharp face and long pony tailed wavy purple hair, along with sky-blue eyes.

Mother Dragon was also as wise as she was beautiful.

It amused her when her twin brother's son Solomon came to defeat Mother Dragon eons and another world ago.

"Perhaps it is time for me to return to the world, what do you think Mother Dragon?" Zuraya suddenly asked.

Her elegant head rose on that long neck. "Does my company bore you, little one?"

Snort escaped her before she could hold it in. She and Mother Dragon shared a lot of history. After Zuraya sought refuge with the Origin Dragon when the great Move happened – Zuraya was able to crystallize time around herself so she could stay with her dragon friend through the centuries.

"That is impossible, but I need to check up on my kids. I've been away from them for so long."

"Very well; I will carry you to the Continental Riff boundary."

"I thank you." Zuraya bowed.

 *****Days later*****

After days of flying on top of Mother Dragon, Zuraya crossed the border. If she remembered correctly she was south of the Yambala tribe … at least that's what it was fifty years ago. They tended to move a lot.

Fortunately, Zuraya knew where their home – of all the tribes was located. Sometimes it paid to be a long living human from Alma Torran; all right so she was a founder of the Yambala culture.

After the Great Exodus most forgot that it happened, except for Yunan, the Torran people, and herself. Zuraya wandered a lot … when she settled; she came across a hidden settlement of people that called themselves the Yambala.  
She taught them the ability to manipulate the energy created from Rukh, Magoi, within one's body, the same thing she taught centuries later to her son Badr. The concept of having a family was still strange and wonderful to her.  
That was something the humans in Alma Torran did not have. A family – all children were in commune and when they reached maturity… well, they were expected to have lots of children of their own. As many as they could have as fast as they could.

They knew what they were.

The bottom species of the food chain of ALL the species of Alma Torran.

Until Ill Ilah, the God that created Alma Torran, reached from the sky and bestowed magic upon the five hundred surviving humans along with seventy-two divine staves to rule and unite the world. Seventy-two divine staves represented the seventy-two species of Alma Torran.

She and her twin brother David were there – they saw Ill Ilah descend from the sky with tendril-like extensions growing from its body. It was large in size, and could overshadow a group of fully grown ogres.  
And then one of those shiny bright and warm tendrils of Ill Ilah wrapped around her and she felt power welling through her.  
With help of the magic, those five hundred humans quickly mediated peace among the other sentient species.  
That was all and well, until David, her twin brother, discovered how to use his stave to enter the dimension where Ill Ilah resided. Zuraya accompanied him on that day – the day the world stopped making sense and at the same time woke both of them to reality that Ill Ilah was not some secret and mysterius benevolent being that cares about his creations – no it was an omnipotent being without will.

Perhaps she should start to write down her memories. Like her twin did. Only she'd write only her thoughts not the prophecies that basically said "I will overthrow the Ill Ilah and become a God!"

 **  
***Badr of Parthevia – 1***  
**

Badr pushed a tuft of dark purple hair out of his eyes. For the next couple of hours better visibility and mobility would be vital for this plan to succeed.

He'd been in the front-lines of this war between Parthevia and Reim Empire for two years and a half. His son had no memory of him despite Badr being present when Esra had given birth to their boy.  
Right now however he was playing a game of dice with soldiers and the other captains. They were waiting for General-of-too-many-names for Badr to care about- Katanon, to return from the meeting with the other generals.

"Captain Badr, it's your turn," one of the younger captains under General Dargul called out.

Badr smiled. "So it is." Badr picked up the four cubes, dice with equal number of plus, minus, and blank sides, and rolled them.

"Well now, Das, it appears I won, again." Badr smiled charmingly at the older captain. Captain Dasrin Pervell Nol Os Dumid. One man Badr actually bothered to remember the name of. He was also one of the few Nobels that gave a shit for the common ground soldiers.

"If I didn't know better boy I would think you are cheating," Das grumbled good naturally, his yellow eye sharp on Badr's golden ones.  
Badr leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "It's all in the wrist and luck, old man."

"Yes, yes, you have uncanny luck." Das stood up. "Now since it is getting late, and I have a feeling that the meeting between the generals will come to an end soon, it's time we turned in. Badr walk with me for a moment."

The way to the tents was quiet for a bit. Badr took a lungful of night air, smiling as he thought back on the grumpy older captain that was walking beside him. Das was in his sixties but he was still a strong man with graying hair that was once dark moss-green, according to Das.

"You advanced in rank quickly, Badr," Das said suddenly.

Badr scratched the back of his head, slightly embarrassed by the man's sudden praise "Hey you did teach me things," he trailed of with a slight chuckle.

"Not many, the most you already knew."

"Oh did I?"

"One of these days; I will drag out who your mother was."

Badr leaned back, a care-free smile still firmly in place. "Ehhh. Not my father?"

"I know who your father was boy, he was dark haired like most of the Partevian commoners. But you have your mother's coloring, don't you?"

"My mother's eyes were blue, old man. Uch!"

Das slapped him upside the head, "I meant your hair color, you goofball." Then Das shot him a gimlet stare, "but you knew that, you tend to act as an idiot when you don't want to answer something."

"I respect you, sir, too much to lie to you."

"Fair enough, but I'll still drag your mother's history out of you."

Old threats, from an old man, Badr thought. Still Das was persistent and since Badr was drafted, the man took an interest the moment he saw him.

All because of his hair color, then again, Partevia's Ruling family had varying shades of pink hair. Dragul and Kartanon families had green colored hair.

Badr himself had purple hair, like his mother and like his mother's twin brother who, according to her, had purple hair so dark that it appeared black. Neither twin had eyebrows though, which along with his eye colour, Badr inherited from his father.

 ****

Weeks after that conversation with Das, Badr was on a horse and was leading a detachment of fifteen men that were picked out to go behind enemy lines.

They would attack from behind before the main force of Parthevia soldiers descended on them. Badr had a very good idea, that their number of fifteen, sixteen with him included, was not expected to survive this mission.

Well the General Kartanon could just forget it. He had every intention in winning and surviving this mission. By any means necessary. He was not above using everything his – mysterious to everyone but Badr - mother taught him.

"Now listen up," he whispered to his men that were clustered around him, his golden eyes gazing intently on them. "We have a slight change of plan."

"But our orders …"

"Our orders were to attack Reim's soldiers from behind," Badr said with a cheerful smile at the soldier, which shut him up. Badr hoped that this youngster who couldn't be older than fifteen; a wide eyed kid that on their ride here was rambling on what he would do after this one decisive battle – would survive said battle."

Realistically the Poor boy was all to green to understand that they were not meant to survive this mission. This was the reason why he was elevated to command of this particular group of young men. That nobody would miss and who were not connected to any of the important Partevia families.

Badr himself was a son of a lowly fishermen of Tison village, so he had no importance, but he was knowable enough of war, and he lead a smaller group of five men to take over a fortress that was vital, and heavily guarded, for winning this war – they were the ones that took initiative to sneak around the back, scaled the walls and opened the door to the main force.

"Now this is what we are going to do …" Badr laid out his plan.

"You can not just send soldiers to pick flowers, we are not women…" The soldier that opened his mouth staggered back a couple of steps when Badr looked at him, golden eyes cold – "You will pick those flowers, soldier, because the juice that we will extract can color our hair yellow – the hair color that is prominent in Reim – so that we can go into camp and taint their water with a sleep powder …"

Then he gave the soldier a slightly evil smile. "And for your sake, I strongly suggest you don't go around telling people, women especially, that picking flowers is a woman's job." Then his smile really turned downright evil. "Unless, you really don't want to attract any ladies."

"We don't have any sleep powder …"

"Yes we do."

"But…"

"Pick the damn flowers, soldier that is an order." Badr's eyes flashed in irritation, "I will worry about the details."

It was a good thing that he packed an assortment of useful things in his saddlebags. Some ingredients for medicine there could be used to make a sleeping powder.

After the soldiers picked those flowers, Badr instructed them on how to make the paste that they put on their hair and were to leave there for a half an hour. It was good that it was required for a serving soldier to have a short hair or they'd be held up for weeks with that paste on their heads.

The battlefield was utter chaos, even when they halved the Reim force with sleeping drought, they still outnumbered them.  
But the Patevia soldiers had better armor, stronger swords and spears, and their archers were more accurate.  
But then again, there were Reim archers on higher ground, sniping down his men. Well Badr decided to do something about that.

He galloped toward the chasse of Reim crossbowmen – leaping from the horse's back just as arrows impacted the poor animal, which fell to the ground riddled with armor piercing bolts.

The Reim crossbowman were no match for Badr's skills with his shamshir, so they were dispatched in a matter of minutes.

The war was finally over and it was about damn time too.

All of the fifteen men and the main force of ten thousand strong died with the soldiers of Reim in that one decisive battle but they brought victory and the end to the war.

Badr didn't remember much, it was all a blur of blood, screams, and dying men, and he knew that he killed a lot of people. But he was alive, which was mostly thanks to him mastering Magoi Manipulation – so he could stop his blood from spilling out of his body when his leg was severed during that battle.

Magoi Manipulation saved him on that day, a technique taught to him by his mother; Zeruya Jehoahaz Abraham was a very old woman, who retained her youth and beauty for centuries before meeting, and then settling down, with his father Ardeth of Parthevia.  
His father Ardeth, who was a fisherman in Tison, taught him how to live off the sea and the land.  
It was Zeruya, however, that taught him how to fight with a sword, how to read, how to fight hand to hand, and speak and read the Torran language.

But most importantly she taught him how to use Magoi, how to listen to the Rukh, and how to ward himself from his uncle.  
His uncle was the reason why Badr set up traps into his infant son before he was dispatched; after all there was no guarantee that Badr would survive the war to teach his son all the things Zeruya taught him.

For example: the truth about Alma Torran and the whole truth about David Jehoahaz Abraham, Zeruya's twin brother.

If Uncle David attempted to posse his son he'd have lots of trouble and maybe, just maybe Sinbad would be able to contain him safely. Provided that Badr doesn't return, or die before teaching Sinbad his heritage.

But it appeared that he would survive to teach his son something, since he was returning home.

Without a leg and full of scars, but alive to return to Esra and their son, who he hadn't seen since he was a month old. He still remembered the night Sinbad was born – he was there after all - Esra nearly crushed his hand.

 ****

Badr hummed, sprawled on his side, as the cart with him and his things carried him through the desert toward Tison village. He would be home soon.

He walked with a help of a walking stick to their little house at the south of the village. When he neared the structure he noticed a figure working in the back on the garden. He walked by a clucking chicken and a rooster that Esra kept for eggs.

She herself was tending to the legume and salad that grew in abundance this time of year.

"H..." Badr started to say, when Esra let out a shriek, turned around, and threw a pitcher of water right at his head.

"Not a welcome I expected," he commented while rubbing his head, the clay shards from the water jug spread out around him. Badr was pretty sure there was some of the pottery tangled in his heir as well. "Hello love." He smiled up at Esra who was watching him bug eyed.

"I thought ... Badr …I" She fell on her knees beside him. "I'm sorry; I didn't know it was you. I thought that it was dratted Thessal again."

"Meh I rather get a pitcher in the face from my wife than a hug from that girl in the tavern."

"You, you're home now. You won't be dispatched again?" Esra asked her amber eyes locked on him. He was almost certain that she hadn't noticed his lack of leg yet. It was a good thing that he wore robes that reached his ankles – but then again, Badr supposed it would be good to tell her and not let her discover his injury.

"Esra, they discharged me because, well, they really have no use of me, unless it's for bait."

With that he patted the place where his leg once was, and Esra paled. Badr winced. This was the expected reaction, he supposed.

"You – you idiot!" she screamed, tears falling as she tackled him into hug. That was an expected reaction as well.

"I'm fine, I'm here."

"He told me you were dead. That all who fought at the border was killed in that battle." Her voice was muffled, but Badr could hear Esra clearly. He ran his hand, to comfort her, from the top of her raven head, and then lightly tugged her plait.

Something he'd done since they were little children playing. Esra usually chased him with a stick, after he played a prank on her.

"I'm the only one who survived," he told her quietly. Even Das died in that battle, though he lived long enough that Badr told him bits and pieces about his mother, before the old man died.

Including that she still lived, probably. She just left sometime after Badr and Esra married, and that she was about 1,800 years old. That made Das spit out the alcohol he insisted on drinking while dying.

"Do you want to see Sin?" Esra suddenly asked, then stood up and offered him a hand with a wide smile. "He has grown so much."

"Of course he did, I haven't seen our son for two years." Badr accepted his wife's help, not that he really needed help to stand up, he did fight with his leg severed off, and not that Esra would ever hear that detail.

But it was a nice feeling, Esra's hand in his, her wide smile, laughing amber eyes in a heart shaped face.

"Mama, who's thiz?" a small voice said; Badr studied the little guy, big gold eyes, purple hair with one strand sticking up, a chubby baby face, as Sinbad studied him in return.

"You are my papa, aren't you" Sinbad stated, looking directly at Badr. He could only nod, he couldn't speak, even after the boy leaped into his arms, yelling papa and hugging him fiercely.

 ****

Months passed and Badr settled down into the quiet life in the Tison village. Mostly fishing with his father's old boat and net and helping his wife where he could.

At noon he usually went to the tavern to sell some fish and to find out what's happening in Partevia and to have a drink. He usually got a drink and food and company if he asked for it or not.

"Hey there Badr." One of the tavern's serving women sat down beside him. "Did you know," she leaned tantalizingly over, so that he could see deep down into her cleavage, "that King Davashadill IV proclaimed for all the Partevia that we are standing at the turning point in our history…"

"Mah Margo," the other serving girl, sat down at his other side, draping all over his lap, almost, "you are telling Badr something he already knows, after all he is a War Hero."

Badr sighed, ever since the war ended, soldiers were going around giving people money. Esra had come home with a heavy bag of gold, already. Badr knew that this wouldn't go on for long; sooner or later the Nobles would demand something more precious than money as a payback.

"What a blessing!" a man with a bandana at the nearby table shouted. "We can live like this because of the war."

The other man – this one with his hair loose and free- with that man laughed. "The country gains more territory and we get money."

"This is like heaven!"

Idiots, the lot of them. Badr drained the tankard of ale. "Whahaha" – he laughed. "Bring more alcohol!" he called out to the girl that was not hanging onto him.

"Oh talk about luxuriates," The man with loose black hair said, smiling at Badr. But his dark eyes flashed enviously at the food and drink spread before Badr. He knew that guy; that one was the one Esra wanted to really throw that pitcher of water at.

The man with the bandana grinned. "That is because he is the hero of our village. The only man to survive that mission at the border – Badr."

"Yes and Thessal – the guy with him was sniffling around his wife while he was away. The man was so persistent in pestering Esra to marry him, because she was a widow, that it annoyed his normally peaceful wife into thinking violent thoughts – which resulted in broken pottery and Badr with messy and wet hair.

"Oh! You are here" – Soldiers entered the tavern; he didn't know the commanding officer but he knew why they were here.

"Sir Badr! We've been looking for you. You are the only one in this village who hasn't claimed the reward. Please come and take it," the captain was saying.

"Bring them in," the Partevian caption called to his soldier's outside- who then brought in five heavy sacks of silver and gold coins.  
The captain then stepped forward again. "These are the King's reward to Sir Badr," he said with flourish.

Badr eyed the money, while the tavern patrons discussed the battle; the amount of money – he had enough of that – Esra got the bag of gold. They didn't need much for the simple way of living they liked.

Badr stood up and with one step he was by the soldiers and clapped them on the shoulder. "Sorry, I don't need it. There is no reason for me to accept a fortune like this."

Then he smiled at them. "Thank you for bringing them all the way to Tison. But I'm not taking them."

"But-but, according to the rule ..." the captain looked perplexed. Taking pity on the solder, Badr nodded.

"Ahh if that's the trouble, I see. Well then, I'll use it to buy drinks for everyone in the tavern. Then it won't cause you problems."

And with that he walked outside, without turning back. He walked all the way to the shore, where his boat was tethered to the pier.  
War huh, he thought. Everyone was so delirious about the war. Then again they didn't fight, they just received money – the starvation, cold, and thirst didn't touch them.

Is it all right to continue like this? He asked himself this question many times. But no matter how many times he thought of it, he could not change the way this country was headed. Solomon forbids the Dungeon rising somewhere near Partevia.

He really couldn't do anything else but continue with his life, head to the sea, catch tasty fish and head home - To his wife and son.  
Badr thought as he sailed away, because Esra and his son were precious; turning, he grabbed a net to catch that tasty fish … only to stare at his sleeping son. His three year old son, who sneaked into his boat and fell asleep, who was blinking awake …

"Daddy!" he shouted, jumping into his arms with the enthusiasm of a three year old boy.

Badr finally found his voice. "Sinbad WHAT are you doing here?!"

His freaking out was ignored by his child, completely. "Daddy, daddy! Look sea!"

Sinbad darted from one end of his fishing boat to the other. His golden eyes were wide and full of wonder when he watched the sea.  
Badr sighed; the boy was like he'd downed a gallon of coffee today. "Yes, yes, it's the sea. But Sin, you can't come with me."  
A blink of big golden eyes was all that Badr got from his son.

"Nah, never mind," he ruffled Sinbad's purple hair, sighing; he didn't understand, Badr thought, "It's daddy's fault for not being careful." Can't blame the three year old…a distant thunder made Badr look in the distance; it was not good, there were dark clouds rolling toward them.

"Daddy there …land," Sinbad said.

"Don't worry; daddy will get us to safety." Badr then made sure that Sinbad was safely tucked in the boat. "Now be a good boy."

It was a crazy storm; Badr had a hard time steering, but the most troublesome thing was visibility, it was so dark he could not see the bow of his boat. At this rate, they both would capsize, Badr thought, and if that happened, that would mean … both of their deaths. It was a sobering thought; he must somehow make sure that the boat didn't capsize.

"Daddy," came his son's voice, and then Sinbad pointed at something in the distance. "It's this way."

The child spoke with confidence, so Badr decided to go the way Sin pointed out.  
And suddenly they were out of the storm.

"Howlay daddy!" Sinbad laughed happily.

Now that was simply amazing … and a bit worrying, since a lot of potential meant a very big target for Badr's uncle.

 *****Esra of Parthevia – 1***  
**

Being a mother to a son in Tison village during a war was difficult. Not because they could not survive, they could with the help of the neighbors' that had the same difficulties. Since her mother's bow broke and Esra could not fix it, and had no knowledge how to make a new one – she and Sinbad had to make do without meat of any kind. Unless Esra managed to catch wild rabbit in a snare and beat foxes or jackals to a trapped animal.

Being a woman in Tison was slightly easier; according to her mother Amira, since Tison village was a fishing village, and mostly got by with that and what womenfolk grew in their gardens. She, however, was additionally taught other skills by her mother; who moved from Plains of Partevia to more inland, where there were pastures for horses and steps on which horses, sheep, goat, and cattle grazed along with wild animals such as deer, wild goats, and hares.  
In her youth, her mother Amira rode her horse from the steps beyond the Karluk Mountains in the Far East of Partevia to be married when she was twenty years old.

Her groom, Rostam, was eight years younger than her. Amira arrived with her trousseau - that contained two horses, clothes, two carpets she made herself, intercity shaped bread, and bow and arrows with iron tips.

Rostam was an apprentice to a wood carver at the time of their marriage; when they were married for five years they moved to Tison village and had her. Rostam got commissions for his woodwork like wooden chests, doorpost, front doors, transom, window frames, posts, and ancons all carved with various shapes of nature.

So Amira was left to look after the house; she used a lot of that time to catch hare, that she smoked or cooked and then shared or sold the excess to make money to buy other necessities for living for her family of three.

Soon as Esra was old enough, her mother taught her how to cook, how to bake bread in a makeshift oven outside, and tend to their garden and animals. But most importantly, how to use a bow and arrow, how to set up a trap for wildlife – and how to make a shelter in the wild.

It was when Amira was teaching little Esra how to shoot a bow, they stumbled on a mother and her son – and the rest as the people are wont to say was history.

Though Esra's first impression of Badr was "That icky Mellon head that pulls my hair," not very flattering. But back then Esra thought all boys had cooties.

Only later, as years passed Badr become "That alluring purple head that drives me up a wall with his carefree attitude."  
He was charming and kind – and kept up with his habit of tugging her plait - So she did something about it. She married the man. That was the best decision she ever made!

Parthevia was at war with Reim and every able bodied man was called by the Royal family to serve as a soldier in that war.  
Her husband was no different.

At least he got to hold his newborn son before he was shipped out to the battlefield. She remembered that day, four years ago; there was a storm when her contractions started; fortunately her mother was still alive then and she was able to take on the role of a midwife.  
That was four years ago. Three years ago her husband returned, after the tanner's son Thassall said that he was dead, and Esra should marry him.

Thassall was very adamant that Badr would not return and that he was dead when notices of deaths of sons and fathers came to the surrounding villages and towns.

Badr's death notice however hadn't come. So the conclusion was that her husband lived – so until she didn't get a notice and the casket with her husband's body – her Badr was alive.

And that was final – no matter what tanner's son was saying.

Esra contemplated violence the next time he'd called on her, so when she heard footsteps and a male voice, she flung the pitcher full of water at the annoying intruder, only to see that is was her husband.

Badr had returned home and like then, the weather was good for the vegetable garden she tended to, Esra thought, as she wiped her brow and looked up at the sun to measure the time.

A shadow fell over her …

"You know when I left you, you were a bit more on the …chubby side," a familiar voice said; she froze then absurdly stood up and …There stood Badr, her husband, the man that occupied her thoughts just now and, Esra's amber-brown eyes narrowed, did Badr just call her chubby?

"I am not chubby," she muttered while hugging the daylights out of him as she always did, when he returned from the fishing and then going to the larger port towns to sell his catch. They were able to live comfortably, even if they didn't have a lot of material things. Their little house was made from rocks, with a tiled roof, on the outskirts of Tison village; they had a vegetable and herb garden, a flock of hens, and one very mean rooster; for meat and eggs and of course along with the fish and other seafood Badr brought home. Badr also brought an olive tree sampling, so that now they could make their own oil.

"Need. Air. Dear."

"Oh shush you," she grumbled, and then pulled away, when Badr, as usual, tugged gently on her dark brown braid.

"Mama?" came a small voice from behind them. Both of them turned and looked down.

"Sin," she said when she knelled by the child, Badr beside her. "Did you sneak again onto your father's fishing boat?"

Sinbad developed a habit to stealthily sneak on Badr's boat every now and then since Badr came home.

Big golden eyes under a mop of purple hair regarded her and Badr solemnly. "Nope." The four year old shook his head.

"You cannot go fishing with me yet, Sinbad, you are not old enough." Badr ruffled their boy's wild spikes, "Do you understand, Sin?"

"I understand." Sinbad nodded. Esra really had to bite her lip then; she just knew that her son just found a loophole in his father's words – something Esra figured out she'd have to look for after that incident with the rooster and hens when Sinbad was two and a half when her son discovered the concept of the loophole.

 ****

When Badr came home that day, from his fishing expedition, she bit her lip again to prevent laughing out loud when she saw little Sinbad slung over her husband's shoulder.

"Supper is ready," she informed both of them, and then there was a knock on the door, and little Sin went to open it, revealing a neighbor.

"Ahh," Esra said, when she looked at the squat, big and wide woman – "Hurem, is something the matter?"

"An announcement was just made in the middle of Tison," Hurem said elatedly, "by one of the Partevia Army Messengers, we are going to war!" she exclaimed happily "all citizens are inquired to participate in war efforts."

Hurem went to the door. "I need to inform the others that weren't there." And with that she pivoted on her heel and left, leaving only silence behind.

"Papa, Mama, what's war?" Sinbad asked, breaking the heavy silence that fell when Hurem dropped the news.

Esra hugged her little Sin, closing her eyes, if this war took years again, Sinbad could be drafted, like his father was, perhaps even Badr would get drafted, even with his lack of a leg.

"War is a bad thing, Sinbad. A very bad thing," she heard her husband say.

Yes, Esra thought, war was a very bad thing.

* * *

THE END ... of the Part 1


End file.
